


Set Fire To The Preacher

by munchmulch



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale patron of the queers, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley's Rat Army, Gen, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Multi, angelic idiots, but it's more, i'd say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22143517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/munchmulch/pseuds/munchmulch
Summary: Three months after the apocalypse fails to happen, Haven decides it's time to assign a new agent to earth.Or, three Archangels try to evict an ex-principality and get a bit more than they bargained for.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 332
Collections: Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	Set Fire To The Preacher

Three months after the apocalypse fails to happen, Haven decides it's time to assign a new agent to earth. 

They can't make the same mistakes they did last time, so they put a lot of time and energy into making very different ones. 

Their agent needs a base of operations, current human society is much harder to plop an angel into then Eden after all. So they begin by placing a claim on the bookshop. It was, of course, created as a cover for their earthbound agent. Therefore any _terminated_ agents have no right to reside in it. 

Heaven starts with polite missives.1 Aziraphale responds with equally polite dismissals. Heaven starts sending thinly veiled threats.2 Aziraphale counters with verbose no thank yous. 

Heaven is forced to resort to more drastic measures.

Luckily for them a doorway to heaven is operable from both sides. Even, to one former principality's acute distress, when the chalk from one side had been scrubbed clean and all the candles in the bookshop have disappeared and been replaced by a bizarre infestation of lava lamps.3

And so with the glee of a toddler first discovering what a light switch does, heaven4 starts activating it at random. Thus forcing the owner to close shop in order to avoid any human casualties.5

What finally wins it though, their trump card, is the _Sound Of Music._ Four Archangels, stewing in petty determination6, find someone in the tech department to set it up. The soundtrack is loud, obnoxious, and on loop. The only break from it is an occasional bout of what seems to be a full script rehearsal of the play, by the Archangel's themselves. 

Aziraphale breaks quite a lot of things, throwing them at the active portal, before he finally concedes defeat. 

Or appears to at least. He certainly packs up his books and moves to a nice little cottage with a certain retired demon.  7

With the bookshop nicely secured Haven must, of course, choose a new agent. 

It's a hard decision to be sure, and there are two schools of thought among the Archangels. One, that they should assign someone of strong character and great power who is unlikely to be corrupted by the Earth as their predecessor was. The second is that they should choose someone easily controllable, weak enough to be disposed of if needed.

In the end, Uriel is the only one to vote for the first option. 

So they look at the lowest ranking angels. Since it seems that even a Principality is too strong to be assigned to the position they start examining angels small enough to not be categorized under the tilted hierarchy at all. Foot soldiers and personal assistants mostly. 

They settle on a clerk, one who has been assigned to the same cubicle for the last 3000 years with no breaks or complaints. Someone who, as a bonus, has almost no experience with anything even remotely related to Earth.  8

Still, even sending someone who barely meets the requirement of angelic cannon folder leaves them all vaguely uneasy. 

As is tradition, when dealing with internal concerns, Michel disappears for a bit, and when they come back it’s with a solution.9 This solution happens to be in the form of a small metal cuff that can be remotely detonated to burst into a blaze of hellfire. 

So it is that four archangels send an unprepared, untrained, confused, explodable office worker down to earth with no instructions other than 'Send in a report every week, there's a good lad!' 

Had The Clerk10 been trained at all, the Archangels might have realized that something was wrong quite a bit earlier. Unfortunately for them the poor explodable sod had no frame of reference for what a human dwelling is supposed to look like. 

They have no frame of reference for quite a lot, actually. The two human magazines that had been occasionally passed around the office had been titled ‘Animal Wellness’ and ‘Backstreet Boys Girl BOP!’ neither of which seem particularly useful in this situation. 

As far as they know the smashed furniture is decorative. And as far as they know the large number of rats scuttling around, and birds spitefully pooping from the rafters are pets.

The first day in The Clerk’s new corporation is spent frantically searching for any paperwork they’re supposed to be doing. The second day is spent coming to the horrifying realization that animals are small mortal things and that their new job must include providing for the creatures.  11

From the Animal Wellness magazine they know that pets must be provided with food, water, shampoo, sweaters, and luxury beds. Unfortunately, they have no idea what kind of food matter rats or birds eat, or where to acquire these things.  12

They have no choice but to ask for help. 

After some agonized pacing and hand wringing13 they come up with two possible options. One, ask the archangels who assigned them to Earth for more information. Or two, wander around outside the former bookshop and hope a human will answer questions about what animals eat and how to obtain the substances in question. 

Seeing as this clerk's experience of Archangels consists of being politely yelled at for denied requisition forms, and being attached to an inescapable metal bracelet that reeks of demonic energy before being thrown to earth, well.

They walk through the door. 

Cautiously approaching the nearest human, "Ah yes, excuse me sir, may I ask you a question?" 

The human, a young woman who is already quite late for work, performs a valiant rendition of a deer in headlights before stuttering, "O-Oh, uhh, I already take time in my life for Jesus, thanks!" 

Frowning at the quickly retreating human and trying to process the nonsensical response the Clerk mutters to themself, confused, ". . . time in my life for Jesus?"

The next few interactions go much the same, leading a desperate angel to start forgoing formalities. 

"Please! I just need to know what a rat eats!" 

"Buddy, I need you to back off or I will call the cops." 

"Oh! Will they know?" 

By the time they find a human who doesn't run away, their corporation has advanced from the 'tearing up a little' stage to 'full on blubbering.' 

The human in question is sporting a short beard and some very angelic golden eyeshadow. The Clerk has very little hope that this interaction will go any better than the others, but they steel themself for another try. "E-excuse me, please! I need to know how to care for many many rats and birds!" 

The human takes a step back mouth opening in confusion and The Clerk's shoulders slump in disappointment. But before they can dejectedly try and find someone else the human starts talking,

"Mx. Fell?14 Oh dear, what happened??" 

To The Clerk's, Mx. Fell's?, shock and bewilderment the human takes them by the elbow and starts leading them back to the bookstore. "Honey, I am going to make you a strong cup of tea and then you are going to tell me all about it. We haven't seen you at the club for _months!_ What in good heavens are you wearing?" 

The human continues a string of good natured babble that The Clerk doesn't really know how to respond to. They reach the door and the human bustles the newly named Mx. Fell inside. Inexplicably, when the door shuts and the human turns to see the actual insides of the bookshop they start screeching. 

"GOOD LORD FELL!”

Mx. Fell has no idea how to respond to this either, other than to break down into more intense sobs, "I just, d-don't know, h-how, to take care of them all!" 

The human has let go of the angel’s arm and starts flailing their hands wildly, eyes darting around the room. "Ok, ok, I am not mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with this. I'm going to, um." Their gaze turns to the sobbing clerk. Their face hardens with resolve, "Honey. It's going to be ok. I'm going to help you handle this. Take, take a seat -" they turn in a panicked circle, "Outside! We are going to take a nice calming seat outside and I am going to make a few calls." 

Sitting on the front step, the human pats Mx. Fell’s back and lets them cry into one shoulder as they make calls with their free hand. 

“Hadn’t seen them in a while -” “Yes, a complete bloody breakdown!” “Have no idea how -” “You do not understand what I mean when I say _swarming_ with rats, pigeons in the rafters!” “Place is smashed to bits, mafia maybe?” “Fell said they keep sniffing around, was quite chuffed about it.” “You should see what he’s wearing poor dear!” 

Now for some clarity, the person being cried on by an angel who is decidedly not Mx.15 A.Z. Fell is named Andrea Harris. Andrea Harris, as it happens, has quite good reason not to trust the police with anything, and quite understandable if not as universally accurate reasons to distrust the mental health industry. Anyone who knew her would be quite unsurprised that, when faced with this particular situation, she chooses not to call the police or to take Mx. Fell to a hospital. Instead she calls her own type of army. 

***

Meanwhile, somewhere in the South Downs in a beautiful little garden, a rat gives a report to a snake. Said snake, currently shaped like a middle aged human trying much too hard to look cool, proceeds to bust through the cottage door in a characteristically dramatic fashion. 

“Aziraphale, there’s a cleaning crew of queers in your bookshop!” 

***

Said army of queers consists of people who frequent the various clubs16 in which Mx. Fell is considered an icon. And currently they are cleaning. Andrea only had to make a few strategic calls before news spread and suddenly the bookshop is full of people armed with brooms, traps, poison, and determination. 

To everyone’s confusion the poison is hardly needed, the rats take one look at the new group and scoot on out.  17

The pigeons are a problem though.18 As some people sweep and shove broken bits of furniture into garbage bags, others slowly make progress in chasing out what feathery bastards bother to come down from the rafters. 

Mx. Fell The Second is initially distressed by the animal eviction, but is quickly reassured that none of the animals currently in residence are supposed to be there and they will be much happier outside. They’re then given a garbage bag and are greatly relieved by the simple instructions provided for the tasks they are expected to perform. 

***

“An active heavenly portal!” 

“I know, angel! I’m driving as fast as I can!” 

“If those, those, dalcops in administration were to vaporize a customer that would be one thing!”

“Would it??” 

“Crowley if, if one hair! Is harmed! On any of those humans heads!” Aziraphale splutters, “Well I can hardly be held accountable for my actions, now can I!?” 

Sweating, Crowley compresses the gas pedal until it’s touching the floor. 

***

Andrea thinks the clean up is going quite well actually, a group left to get snacks and alcohol so the whole thing has turned into a bit of a party. And sure Fell still seems, odd, but at least he’s much more relaxed. 

An older queen manages to dig up Fell's 'Young Man's'19 number20 but it goes straight to voicemail. Asking Fell directly if there's anyone else they can contact for him just seems to confuse him and leads to more stammering and incomprehensible babbling about 'AR' and 'upper management'. 

The questions are interrupted by the loud bang of the front door. And then, things get very, very odd. Because there's Mx. Fell, the _real_ Mx. Fell. And isn't that a relief, that he must have a twin and hasn’t really gone completely dotty. 

Fell looks livid, the doppelganger going rimrod straight, eyes winding. Mx. Fell' young man slinks in after him and raises his fingers to - 

Snap

And then Andrea is thinking nothing at all. 

In fact, the only three still thinking and moving with the flow of time are two angels and one demon. 

Aziraphale doesn't have a sword. He has no weapons at all except for a burning indignant rage simmering as he homes in on the imposter. 

"My corporation model?! You take my bookstore, you take my form!" And suddenly the clerk is being held up by the front of their rumpled white button up. 

"I-I'm sorry, sir! I really don't -" 

Aziraphale shakes them, "And then you dare. You dare to put humans that are under my protection at risk." The clerk is pulled closer, staring, terrified, into the more powerful Angel's eyes. "Give me one good reason not to discorporate you. One good reason not to ask Crowley to pull fire from the depths of hell and set you ablaze!" 

Now, the clerk has quite a bit of experience with angry angels. Experience with icy smiles and polite threats over things they never had the authority to change. Their trained response to fear is to placate, apologize and praise and direct them to someone else. They've never been in quite this situation before, though. The threat of death looming within an angel wearing a bowtie. So while their brain tries to come up with the words to save themself, their human body unlocks several new responses to fear. 

Presently, shrieking bloody murder and kicking Aziraphale in the groin. 

Aziraphale lets the clerk go more out of shock than pain, their corporation isn't equipped with anything particularly painful to hit under the clothes. But they'd been expecting something more along the lines of threats and condescension from their angelic doppelganger. 

The Clerk takes this chance to, not run exactly, but to scoot backwards from where they've fallen on their butt until they're back is pressed against one of the frozen humans. 

Crowley, who'd been watching the exchange with wide eyes and a grin, lopes around a disgruntled Aziraphale and leans into the new angel's space. Squinting, he props his glasses on his head to get a better look at the entities' energy. 

"Huh. Angel, not to rain on your parade, but something is definitely wrong here." 

Huffing, Aziraphale joins Crowley in front of the no longer screaming but quite definitely crying angel. "Yes dear, I had rather figured that out." Squinting himself he gasps, "Oh, that is just barbaric!" 

Now that The Clerk has gotten over the screaming and fighting stage of being confronted with death, they’ve quickly transitioned to grief. 

They would like to know what led them here though, and figuring being a bad enough angel to question things is hardly going to make this situation _worse_ , "Is this because I made the animals leave? I swear I tried to figure out how to take care of them! But the h -" they cut themselves off remembering that humans are also small easily killed creatures "I-I mean, I decided, t-that they'd be happier outside! Rats and Pigeons, are pets only in particular situations, a-and apparently all of the ones in here were not -" 

They struggle to remember what the humans had explained, "- Not dome estate!" They laugh high-pitched and terrified, "Basic animal knowledge you know, heard it from a friend!" 

An angel and demon blink in unison. Eventually it's the demon who speaks, "You don't even, even like, know who we _are_ do you??" He flails an arm at the clerk, "I mean, you fill a place up with vermin and this poor sod thinks they're part of the job description!" 

Aziraphale opens and closes his mouth ineffectually, and then to the angel "My dear, what _exactly_ were you told your job was supposed to be?"

The demon cuts in before the clerk can respond, "And why!" He grabs the wrist with the hellfire bracelet on it and waggles it back and forth despite the clerk's yelp, "Do you think you need a bloody bomb strapped to you to do it? Who did you piss off that bad?" 

Wheezing, fat messy tears streaking down their face, the clerk wails, “I don’t know what they want me to do! I don’t want to be destroyed I just want to be back in a job that makes sense!!” 

*** 

Wensleydale’s parents are really quite lovely people. 

One questionably honest resume and a painfully sincere cover letter and Clark Fell is set up with a career in accounting, and a group of children excited to teach them how to pass as human. 

Over time they are also set up with a small bungalow and an unreasonable number of cats.21

Occasionally they wonder why they haven’t heard from any of the archangels that assigned them to this position, but really Aziraphale and his adversary/husband are the best supervisors they've ever had so they do rather prefer not to look the gift horse in the mouth.  22

***

But, maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Because just a bit before any of this there are four archangels standing in a bookshop. The bookshop is very clean, and mostly empty. The two things of note left in it are, a rat crouched on a rafter, and a metal cuff in the middle of the floor surrounded by a scorch mark. 

“Well _I_ didn’t activate it!” The flush coloring Gabriel’s face suggests that he might be a _bit_ more unsure of that than he’s trying to project. 

Uriel snorts, “Next time, don’t leave the remote in your pocket.” 

Michael shakes their head, “Honestly Gabriel, a complete waste of resources.” 

Hopeful, Sandalphon pipes up, “Can I hold the remote next time?” 

* 1\. Though perhaps the word ‘polite’ requires a clarifying adjective: self-righteously polite, passive-aggressively polite, polite but like in a Gabriel sort of way.  [ ▲ ]

* 2\. Only through letter and projection though, no one is actually willing to go down in person to try and evict an angel who can walk into hellfire.  [ ▲ ]

* 3\. To be fair Crowley had been quite thoroughly sloshed in this endeavor. Aziraphale only officially forgave him for it the third time Crowley tripped over one of the infernal things, at which point the angel figured he’d paid for his crimes.  [ ▲ ]

* 4\. Angel and demon casualties are avoided by roping off the middle of the room, Crowley had quite a bit of fun stealing some of those those rope standy things that you see at the airport.  [ ▲ ]

* 5\. Or one purple eyed agent of it at least. [ ▲ ]

* 6\. Or determination to be petty. [ ▲ ]

* 7\. Mostly retired anyway, tempting an angel to come up with ideas for petty revenge while absolutely buggered is respectively demonic enough. [ ▲ ]

* 8\. Beyond earth requisition forms and some dubious magazines. [ ▲ ]

* 9\. And some amount of unvoiced relief that their hellish contact was found wandering in purgatory, miraculously unmelted.  [ ▲ ]

* 10\. Who we will be referring to as The Clerk for now because they weren’t given time to choose a human name. [ ▲ ]

* 11\. To be fair, no one had explained to them what their job was actually supposed to be. Admittedly, no one was really sure what Aziraphale's job was supposed to be either, as long as they could assign tasks and he was seen to be doing _something._ [ ▲ ]

* 12\. Other than the water. They’re quite proud to have figured out how to make it come out. They even stuffed a little towel into the drainage hole so both rats and birds can access the bin of it. [ ▲ ]

* 13\. Actions quite reminiscent of the original Aziraphale, indeed this is one of the few times where if someone familiar with the bookshop owner were to pop in they might believe nothing to be amiss.  [ ▲ ]

* 14\. While Aziraphale doesn't mind the assumption that he’s a human male, when placed in an environment that actively inquires about gender it quickly becomes apparent that he never bothered to acquire one.  [ ▲ ]

* 15\. Sometimes Mr., and very rarely Madam.  [ ▲ ]

* 16\. The word ‘clubs’ in this case often being prefaced by the word ‘book’. [ ▲ ]

* 17\. This is mostly due to the fact that the rats are highly trained, intelligent, agents of destruction who operate under the instructions to bail and report in if things start looking iffy.  [ ▲ ]

* 18\. The pigeons were Aziraphale’s idea and the instructions they are currently operating under are to ‘have fun and do their best.’ [ ▲ ]

* 19\. Crowley, as it happens, has been thrown full throttle into the performance of gender. This leads to some frustration when all that can be found is Fell’s husband’s number and not his wife’s or spouse's.  [ ▲ ]

* 20\. Which was acquired while collaborating on a multi-level marketing scam. [ ▲ ]

* 21\. Which they were relieved to discover are actually considered pets. The Them are quite approving of the number despite Aziraphale’s distressed attempts to control the situation after the tenth acquisition.  [ ▲ ]

* 22\. They’d learned that idiom from Crowley, who’d then gotten confused and started mumbling about whether bad teeth on a horse meant they were sick, and if there were dentists for horses.  [ ▲ ]

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [At The Bottom Of Everything](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXDAhnbYobE) which has absolutely nothing to do with this fic 
> 
> Find me over at [munchmulch](https://munchmulch.tumblr.com/)


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